8:00 AM
by FandomDancer
Summary: Murdock is waiting to find out if his friends survived their execution by firing squad. Based off of the Season 5 episode 'Firing Line'
1. Part 1

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own The A-Team, of course...**

 **8:00 A.M.**

You see, the thing about fear is that it's nothing more than a biological state of mind.

Trust me on that. I know all about states of mind.

Fear comes from heightened chemicals that go shooting through the brain like cars on a raceway. The brain has perceived that there is an immediate danger and ultimate threat to itself, and consequently prepares the body as to protect itself. Muscles tighten. Breathing quickens. The heart beats faster. Kind of like being in love...isn't it weird to realize that the same symptoms you experience for fear you experience for love? There's some sort of psychologibabble for that, but I'm not getting to that right now. Because right now we're talking about fear. And it being a state of mind. Right.

The Vulcans on _Star Trek_ say that they can control their emotions. This means they don't experience fear. This is an outright lie. They experience it. But they don't let it dictate their actions. They can be afraid all the time, and we'll never know it. That Spock is a sneaky old character, yes he is.

Once you realize that you're only afraid because your brain is perceiving a threat, all you have to do is turn off the part that says there's a danger. That's the part that only a select few people in this world can do. Humans don't like to die. They don't like to be hurt, and they don't like to see their friends get hurt and die. But what no one realizes is, that's part of the cycle. We're all running around on a little anthill anyway. It's not just the law of the jungle, ladies and boys. It's the law of life.

Now, I'm not sayin' that turning off the fear response is a good idea. And I'm not sayin' it's easy. You have to be ready to fill that empty hole in your head with something else. Once your brain is no longer screaming "I'M GONNA DIIIIIEEEEE" it's got to have something else goin' for it that'll keep it distracted from the outside stimuli telling it it's goin' to die.

You follow me?

Take notes if you have to.

The point is, if you can't fill your head with something other than "I'M GONNA DIIIIEEEEE," then you're basically without a paddle, if you get my drift. Pun intended. That's the problem I'm havin' right now though. I got nothing else. Years of trainin', preparations, worry, and lookin' the devil in the eye and laughin' at him - and I got nothing else to think about except one foggy, unclear, sickening fact.

 _They're gonna die_.

You see, for someone of my...particular mental capacity, it seems like letting go of reality would be easy. You don't understand. No one does. Not even them. The papers say I'm crazy. But am I really? Would a crazy man form attachments - even friendships - to not just one but three other men? War or no war? What causes friendships? What causes brotherhood? What causes love?

You ponder that while I keep explainin' my situation here.

I'm not able to move. The boat is bobbing, and the wind is pulling at my hair, and the early morning California sun is peeking up over the edge of the buildings in front of me. I can't see past it. The salt air in my nose makes me want to throw up. No...maybe that's the boat bobbing. I'm not sure.

 _They're gonna die._

I don't know that. That's the sick part. That's why I can't fill my head with anything else. Beethoven. Just the ninth symphony alone should cause enough white noise to fill out the empty pocket of space I'm occupying. I've forgotten how it starts.

 _Hannibal's gonna die._

He can't. The man doesn't know how to die.

 _Face's gonna die._

Another impossibility. Face can talk his way out of anything.

 _B.A.'s gonna die._

At that, I feel a hitch in my throat and a panicked scream wanting to scrape out of my mouth. I close my mouth hard against it, swallow down. It comes back up in a painful burp. "Not possible."

"What's not?" The man next to me speaks. I've forgotten his name. He looks like a rabbi. Should I confess? Should I tell him what's in my mind?

I can't. There's nothing in my mind.

 _B.A. can't die. He's bulletproof._

 _CRACK._

My whole body jerks. For a moment, a single wordless scream echoes in my head...the crack pounding off of my eardrums. And then...everything stops. The scream. The sounds. The world whites out. The yammering in my head - the crazy - stops. It's impossible to be crazy when the world as you know it has ended.

And then everything comes back.

I don't think I've ever been so focused in my entire life. I can hear the flapping of birds' wings as they lift off from the whitecaps. The roar of the ocean hurts as much as the sun in my eyes. My senses have gone hyperalert while my mind has completely shut off. My brain has perceived that there was a danger...it has passed...and it doesn't know what has happened.

 _B.A. is_

You see, the thing about fear is that it's nothing more than a biological state of mind that

 _bulletproof,_

with the right stimuli...can be more powerful than the mind it inhabits.

 _right?_

 **When I watched the court martial episodes of Season Five, let me tell you, I was biting my nails at the very end. The look on Murdock's face when he heard the gunshots is the most intense shot of the series I have experienced.**


	2. Part 2

**8:00 A.M.**

 **Part 2**

"Murdock?"

 _Murdock,_

"Hey, Murdock."

 _you crazy fool._

"Are you in there, buddy?"

 _Captain, look at me._

"Hey man, we gotta go, come on!"

 _Hey, uh, Murdock. Someone's talking to you._

Something I forgot to mention about fear being a state of mind and all? When it's more powerful than the mind it inhabits, it tends to take over. It mixes you up, you know? Don't know what's what or who's who or who's talking. Numb. It makes you numb.

Fear is great. It'll take you over – and then it'll protect you.

"Murdock!"

My head snaps to the side. All at once, I hear the roar. Waves on the shore, hissing on the sand, cracking the old wood of the pier. The boat is still bobbing, anchored to the dock. The air around me still smells like salt and seaweed, a thick scent that churns my stomach. And the 8:06 a.m. sunlight burns down out of a clouded sky. The sensations are muted now. Two minutes after the gunshots that rattled my cage, my brain's decided to switch into normal operating mode.

"Come on, buddy. Wake up." A face swims into my vision. Frankie. Fast talker, conman. Like Face.

 _Pain!_

Don't think that, yet. Don't think his name.

It's hard for me to connect the dots, you know? As I was explaining earlier, fear is a state of mind. It seems to have gotten a hold of me. Sorry for the distraction, folks, but you stop and think about something. Your three best friends have just been shot for a crime they didn't commit. Not just imprisoned. Shot. _You_ try to continue a discourse on the human psychological condition when _that_ news cracks through the air of your classroom.

"You're looking at me, Murdock. Come on. We have to go get the A-Team. Look. They're taking the bodies -"

"Don't say that."

My voice? It's a growl. Unrecognizable. Like when I pushed him up against the wall and snarled in his face. _My_ boys. _My_ men. He's not a part of us, he's got no right to act like it.

"Fine. Whatever you want, Murdock. But we have to follow them. If they get too far away we'll never catch them." The voice – Frankie – softens. "Look, man. I know. I know you're scared. I don't know them like you do, but I love the Aquamaniac, all right? I love the creatures. I'm worried too. But we have got to move, right now."

Finally, things are clearing. My body is obeying as my mind tries to catch up. I'm up. Stumbling from the boat. The wood of the pier creaks and I look down at my shoes. They're flashing, black Converse on black wood, apricot sand, white concrete. I hear behind me: "Murdock, slow down!" I can't.

Once the brain reaches normal operating mode after a shock, it fires off a clear signal: the next part of the plan. Fear will sharpen your focus. In an effort to overcome the obstacles in your head and physically in front of you, fear will set your mind on a one-way ticket to Destination Goal. And Heaven help the one who gets in your way.

I'm in the van, and ahead of me are cars. They're going slow. Too slow. There's no time, don't they know?

"They're all right, Murdock. I know I did it."

"You lied about the gol...the gol..." I can't speak. "The brakes. The brakes and..."

"I did not. I didn't have all the specifics. You have got to start believing me on that. Come on, I helped you get to the guys, and I saved their lives. I know I did."

"You better. Either way, you'll be seeing them again."

He's silent. Probably wondering what I mean. I feel him shift away from me. He gets what I'm saying. I get what I'm saying. I'm capable of anything right now.

We stop at another harbor with a boat tied up. Have we gone in a circle? Wouldn't be surprised. My eyes were closed for part of the trip. I could have missed a turn. But there are gurneys being wheeled down the dock towards a small warehouse. Three gurneys. Three bodies. _Three blind mice. Three blind mice. See how they wheel. See how they..._

Into the building they go.

The sun is an 8:32 a.m. sun now. It's a little brighter, a little hotter. I don't turn on the AC. The salt air is still there, and so is the scent of old metal and dirt. We're in a dirty place, a bunch of warehouses behind the compound. I nudge the van forward towards the door.

Frankie begins to laugh. I park. For a moment, the fear comes back as I get out of the van, but when I come around the front of the vehicle...for the second time that day, everything stops.

When fear leaves your body, it does one of two things. It either is replaced by a secondary emotion, like euphoria, or rage. Or, it leaves you exhausted, unable to function. With so much focus suddenly no longer being needed, your brain is briefly confused. The parts of itself it shut down out of the need to hide now have to be restarted, and that takes some time. Basic instincts are there...they're always there, that's why they're called basic instincts.

My eyes burn. The sun? The salt? Both? I don't know. But my feet are moving towards that shape in the darkness, the shape sitting up, covered in green.

"B.A." The word escapes me in a breath, and suddenly I'm flooded with adrenaline. "B.A." I'm starting to run. He looks up. That guarded look, the one reserved for me only. "B.A. B.A." A slow smile, and suddenly he's so close I can touch him. His arms are up, reaching for me. I do touch him. "B.A." His nearly-bald head is right in front of me and I kiss it frantically, feeling the soft skin under my lips and the warmth of his body through my shirt. Real. He's real. I've got him in a hug so tight neither of us can breathe. "I'm so glad to see your head." Did I say that? It doesn't even make sense. That's all right, I don't need to make sense. I can be crazy. The world is moving. The sun is up and the old metal smell is replaced with sweat and leather and cigars. I can laugh. I can breathe. I can...

"Man, I never thought I would be glad to see you!" B.A. says. His face is scowling, but there's a smile in his eyes. I could hold him forever, the big, mean mudsucker. I could. But I don't. Because Hannibal is next to him. Not dead. Told you so. And beyond Hannibal there's Face. Devilish Face. Told you he would talk his way out of it. But once I hug them, once I affirm that they're alive and well and not just figments of my imagination, I have to go back to B.A. I can't stand too far from him. Not yet.

 _I didn't know ya cared, sweetheart._

He looks at me as I put my arm around him and grin in his face. I wait for Hannibal and Face to leave. B.A. tries to get up, but I press on his shoulders. He looks as me, confused.

"I couldn't let you die," I say to him quietly. "You're my friend."

His face doesn't change, but his eyes soften. He remembers. His arm comes up and touches my back, resting there on my jacket. He's trembling. I'm trembling. Can you blame us? "Well I ain't dead, Murdock."

"I know. You're bulletproof," I murmur.

B.A.'s face twitches into a smile. A rare moment. It's gone before I register it fully, but I recreate it in my memory and file it away. His face is normal now. "I ain't bulletproof. Don't be testin' out that theory."

"But B.A.," I point out, "I didn't see it happen. I've got to see it. The scientific method, you know."

"Ain't happenin', fool!" He jerks away and stomps out. I grin widely, and give chase.


End file.
